Recovering addicts return from rehabilitation only to face rejection and isolation. Where is the research-based, measurable framework beyond slogans? These are not political questions. These are human questions.
Arshid Qalmi
Kashmir today is not merely facing a drug problem. It is witnessing a silent psychological collapse unfolding inside homes, classrooms, streets, and hearts. Every family knows someone struggling. A neighbour. A relative. A student. A friend. Some are addicted to substances. Others are addicted to escape. And yet, our collective response often appears trapped within optics: rallies, marathons, speeches, demolitions, banners, social media campaigns, and symbolic shows of urgency. They look powerful. They sound determined. But deep inside, an uncomfortable question remains: Are we truly fighting addiction, or are we performing the fight against addiction?
Let us be honest enough to admit that awareness alone cannot heal psychological suffering. Yes, awareness campaigns have value. They break the silence. They create conversation. They challenge normalisation. They may even prevent experimentation among some youth. But the real danger begins when symbolism starts replacing systems.
A drug epidemic is never born in isolation. Addiction grows where hopelessness grows. It grows where emotional neglect exists. Where identity collapses. Where loneliness becomes chronic. Where trauma remains untreated. Where purpose disappears. Where emotional pain silently exceeds emotional coping. Very often, substances are not the real destination. They are an escape route. And this is precisely where society repeatedly fails: we punish the symptom while ignoring the suffering beneath it.
A boy taking drugs is not always searching for pleasure. Sometimes he is searching for silence inside his own mind. A girl falling into addiction may not be “spoiled.” She may be emotionally drowning in ways society never bothered to understand. The truth is painful: many addicts are not morally weak people. Many are psychologically wounded people.
Meanwhile, parents suffer silently. Teachers feel helpless. Young minds collapse privately. And recovering addicts return from rehabilitation only to face unemployment, stigma, rejection, and social death. Where are the large-scale counselling systems? Where are the trained psychologists in schools? Where are the emotional support structures for adolescents? Where are the rehabilitation centres accessible to ordinary families? Where is the reintegration policy for recovered youth? Where is the research-based, measurable framework beyond slogans? These are not political questions. These are human questions.
And perhaps the hardest truth of all is this: no society can arrest its way out of emotional suffering. Because addiction is not defeated merely by avoiding substances. It is defeated by restoring meaning to human life.
Kashmir today does not only need anti-drug campaigns. It needs healing systems. It needs emotionally safe schools. It needs psychologically informed parenting. It needs youth engagement beyond survival. It needs dignity-driven rehabilitation. It needs mental health infrastructure. It needs a long-term policy instead of temporary outrage.
Most importantly, it needs the courage to stop performing pain and start understanding it. Because when suffering becomes a stage for image-building, governance slowly turns into theatre. And theatre has never cured a wounded society. Only compassion, science, structure, and sincere human intervention can do that. Kashmir’s youth are not asking merely to be warned. They are asking to be understood.
aq*******@***il.com